


Are You Listening?

by hiuythn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, M/M, except it's really 30+1 but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiuythn/pseuds/hiuythn
Summary: 30 times oikawa said i love you and 1 time he didn't have to





	Are You Listening?

1.

“Iwa-chan, watch out for the log—!”

Oikawa looked on in horror as his best friend tripped and fell flat on his face.

 

2.

“Here.”

Oikawa hands Iwaizumi the ice pack and they both wince when he hisses at the coldness of it on the red-blue bruise throbbing against his skull. Oikawa shuffles closer until their shoulders press together.

 

3.

Oikawa jumps in front of Iwaizumi, arms splayed out.

“Stop where you are! He’s allergic to that!” He glares at the offending PB&J sandwich in their classmate’s hand. “He could DIE, do you want to DIE HIM???”

Behind him, Iwaizumi goes red with embarrassment and quietly puts his head in his hands. “It’s ‘kill’, it’s ‘kill me’. Please just kill me.”

 

4.

A slam of the cupboard in the kitchen. Iwaizumi exhales slowly and puts his pencil down.

“IWA-CHAN,” Oikawa roars, stomping into the living room, waving a familiar red packet in his hand. “WHAT IS THIS.”

“Would you—would you just. Please, just.” Iwaizumi raises a hand, but he knows it’s useless.

“I THOUGHT I SAID NO MORE INSTANT RAMEN, IWA-CHAN,” Oikawa bellows, the noodle packet crumpling in his fists. His poor ramen. “IT’S ALL YOU ATE FOR _THREE_ _WEEKS_. I KNOW YOU LIKE THEM BUT ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.”

Iwaizumi wants to cry. “Lower your voice, the neighbours—”

“I _AM_ YOUR NEIGHBOUR,” Oikawa howls, “AND I AM TELLING YOU TO LOVE YOUR BODY.”

Iwaizumi gets up and walks out the door.

 

5.

Oikawa toes off his shoes and closes the door behind him, grocery bag swinging from his arm. He takes the stairs two at a time, the house slippers tapping on the hardwood floor. Nudging Iwaizumi’s bedroom door open with a shoulder, he rummages through the bag.

“Hey, they had two kinds of that sunflower cracker thing that you liked and—Iwa-chan?” Oikawa stops, a foot halfway in the air.

“Oi-oikawa, hey,” Iwaizumi says, with his hands covering his face. “What-what are you doing. Here.”

Oikawa puts his foot down, gently.

“You invited me over,” he says slowly. “I went to get snacks before I dropped by. Are you _crying_?”

Iwaizumi laughs loudly. His hands are still pressed to his entire face; there is not even a glimpse of his monstrous eyebrows. “HAHA. What? No! No. I’m not—crying, why, why would I be crying? Hahaha.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow imperceptibly and he looks around the room. The bookshelf is typically messy, nothing seems to be missing, no dangerous shards of glass on the floor, the window’s open, and there is nothing on fire. Iwaizumi is sitting on the carpeted floor, his back to the bed. An open book rests on his crossed legs.

Oikawa tip-toes closer. He eyes the window warily, leaning down to whisper, “Is there a clown outside the window, Iwa-chan? Because if there is, I can probably hold them off with your tennis racket.”

Even under those hands, Oikawa can see the confusion on Iwaizumi’s face. “What? No, there’s no clown, why would you ask that.” He pauses. “ _Is_ there a clown?”

“I’m asking because you’re crying,” Oikawa says, and pats Iwaizumi’s hand-face forcefully when he tries to protest, “I’ve only seen you cry once and it was when the clown arrived at Yuuji’s birthday party.”

“That was seven years ago,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “And I’m not crying.”

“Sure, sure,” Oikawa says fondly. He peeks out the window just to make sure and then flops onto the floor beside his friend, placing the bag of snacks on the small table in front of them. Picking out a box of Pocky, he rips it open and immediately eats three.

“C’mon, Iwa-chan,” he says through the crumbs, laying his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “You can tell me.”

Iwaizumi shifts slightly. Mumbles.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Iwaizumi sighs and Oikawa watches his socked toes wiggle into the carpet.

“It’s the book,” he says finally. “The author killed off one of the characters.”

Oikawa’s gaze flicks down to the book lying in Iwaizumi’s lap, to the two tell-tale wet spots on the pages and has to close his eyes. “Iwa-chan,” he whispers, turning to press his face into the warm skin under his cheek. “Iwa-chan, _Iwa-chan._ ”

Iwaizumi groans. “God, I _know_ , Shittykawa, I know! Shut uuup, I knoooow.” He slides further onto the floor and his hands are still pressed to his reddening face.

Oikawa slips an arm around Iwaizumi’s waist and _squeezes_ , vibrating with the need to scream. He wants to yell so badly. “Iwa-chan, oh my god—”

“Don’t say it, don’t—”

“How are you so _cute_ ,” Oikawa despairs.

“I hate you so much.”

 

6.

It’s six forty-one pm. Oikawa stands outside the theatre, wrapped up in a jacket, two sweaters, three pairs on socks on his feet, mittens, the thickest scarf he owns, and a ratty toque. His nose is burning cold and he sniffs on every inhale. He stomps his feet once, twice and tips his head to stare up at the dark sky. It’s too cold for snow and maybe it’s just him, but the stars seem sharper, brighter.

He checks his watch again, and the infinitesimal baring of his skin to the weather has his body wracking with shivers. Six hours forty-one minutes and fifty-three seconds. The movie’s in eight minutes and seven seconds. The tickets are in his pocket and he should wait inside, but he remembers all those times Iwaizumi’s gotten lost by himself, even in places he’s been before, and has to fight the impulse to go find him right away, right now, and lead him here just to be safe.

Oikawa shivers and gives up, reaching for his phone and pressing speed dial one. It rings and he almost thinks it’ll go to voicemail when the line connects and Iwaizumi is saying, “Shit—the movie, I’m so sorry, Oikawa, I just—I’m. Sorry, I’ll—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, breathe. Breathe for me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, already starting down the road. There won’t be any movie-watching tonight, it seems. Iwaizumi listens to him, breathing shakily. “Okay, don’t worry about the movie, forget about it. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

There’s nothing but strained breathing for a long, long moment, and Oikawa feels worry and pain coalesce in his throat the longer he listens to it. And then,

“Dad’s in the hospital.”

Oikawa clenches his fists, feels his heartbeat throbbing against his skin and his bones.

“I’ll be right there.”

 

7.

“Hey! Hey, Iwa-chan, wait up!”

Iwaizumi turns, carefully, and adjusts the books in his arms more securely against his body. At his side, the class president pauses too, looking over her shoulder before grinning widely at him. He rolls his eyes.

“You need something, Oikawa?” he asks as his friend jogs up to them. Oikawa’s hair flops over his eyes and he flicks at the fringe absently.

“Nope!” Oikawa smiles, before leaning into Iwaizumi’s space and slipping a hand into the front pocket of Iwaizumi’s slacks.

Iwaizumi immediately goes red and his eyes widen, nearly dropping the books in his arms. He’s too shocked to say anything and can only stand there, frozen, as Oikawa’s fingers fumble around in his pocket before retreating, giving a final pat to his leg, indecently high on his thigh.

“Secret message, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says suggestively. The class president muffles a snort into her shoulder and he turns to her, winking, and then sidles past them, skipping down the hallway. Iwaizumi wants to burst into flames.

Afterwards, he will reach into his pocket to find 1500 yen and a note that says: _I have a captain’s meeting today_ ( ╥ω╥ ) _so I can’t get snacks with you I’M TRUSTING YOU TO FEED YOUSELF IWA-CHAN DON’T LET ME DOWN,_ and he will say, “Who is he, my mother?” and scowl when the class president points out his little grin.

 

8.

“Hey, you sure you wanna do this?” Iwaizumi asks again, as Oikawa clutches his arm in a death grip. The haunted house looms in front of them and there are people milling around, lining up for their turn. They’ve been standing at the fringes for over fifteen minutes, now, and Iwaizumi is starting to feel concerned about the way Oikawa’s fixated on the fake ghoul hanging by the ticket booth. He gives the guy a nudge. “Hey, you okay?”

Oikawa shudders from head to toe and his eye twitches, but he heaves a fierce huff before walking forward jerkily, and Iwaizumi’s pretty sure he’s trying to set the ghoul prop on fire with his power of his glare. “Let’s do this, Iwa-chan,” he says, and the wobble in his voice makes Iwaizumi want to both laugh and take him home to wrap him in blankets.

“You know what, maybe we shouldn’t,” he says.

“No, it’s okay,” Oikawa declares pitifully. He swipes a hand under his running nose. “You want to, so it’s okay.”

When he pulls them forwards, Iwaizumi follows.

 

9.

“You—you’ve got a little—” Iwaizumi reaches over and swipes the pad of his thumb over Oikawa’s chin. His finger comes away ketchup-stained.

“Thanks, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says distractedly, eyes on the TV.

 

10.

“Put the ramen packet _down, Iwa-chan._ ”

 

11.

“NO, IWA-CHAN.”

“Coooome oooon, it’s been so long!” Iwaizumi huddles behind the coat rack with the ramen to his chest.

“YOU ATE SOME THIS MORNING.”

 

12.

“Hmm…” Oikawa eyes him, tapping a finger on his chin. Points. “That one.”

“God, finally,” Iwaizumi groans, and throws the other shirt in his closet. “You sure she’ll like this one?”

“Absolutely,” Oikawa says imperiously. “Brings out your tan.”

 

13.

Oikawa looks up as Iwaizumi walks through the door. He smiles, puts his phone down. “Hey, how’d it go?”

Iwaizumi grins. “Great; her parents were really nice.”

Oikawa holds his fist up and Iwaizumi bumps it. “See? Told you there was nothing to worry about.”

 

14.

“No, that’s not good enough.” Oikawa frowns at the screen. “It’s almost a year, you have to go bigger—more.”

Iwaizumi scrubs at his eyes. He’s gotten about twenty hours of sleep this week for exams and it’s finally getting to him. He needs to wrap this up so he can nap for a bit before hitting the books again.

“Ugh, it’s fine, I’ll just get it,” he mutters. God he’s so _done_ with this.

Oikawa looks at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, the one she wants is out of my price range.”

Oikawa looks back at the necklace on the screen, at the number next to it, with something dark in his eyes. “She’d get upset—mad, though, wouldn’t she?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, tense.

“She got mad last time,” Oikawa says, quiet.

“It’s _fine_ , Oikawa, leave it,” Iwaizumi says, begs.

“No, it’s not fine, Iwa-chan. It’s not.”

 

15.

“Here.”

A hand appears over his shoulder, a can of coconut juice in its grip. Iwaizumi takes the offering, and Oikawa presses that same hand onto his shoulder as he sinks to the grass, too.

They sit there, on the bank of the river and sipping at their drinks, until Iwaizumi hurts less.

 

16.

“I think I’m gonna take a break,” he says, and Oikawa hums inquisitively. “From dating.”

“Okay, Iwa-chan.”

 

17.

“Hey, if you could say one thing to your younger self,” Oikawa begins, “what would you say?”

“Run,” Iwaizumi says immediately, with a significant look at him. Oikawa feels his mouth drop open and he shoves a hand to Iwaizumi’s chest.

“Iwa-chan, you bum!” he cries dramatically. “Is this what I get, after all we’ve gone through?”

“You mean all _I’ve_ gone through?” Iwaizumi says shamelessly, grinning, and Oikawa pouts, looks away. He lets Iwaizumi have this, have the last laugh, lets Iwaizumi poke fun at his antics while he hides his satisfied grin in the crook of his arm, because as long as Iwaizumi keeps smiling, Oikawa will let him do anything.

 

18.

Oikawa wakes with a start, and he breathes in sharply.

A warm, calloused hand smooths the hair at the nape of his neck and he relaxes. It’s just Iwaizumi. The strokes through his hair continue for a couple seconds and he’s about to fall back to sleep when Iwaizumi pulls back on his shoulder, gently but firmly. He groans.

“The library’s closing, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, and there’s puff of air on Oikawa’s ear. “Let me take you home.”

Oikawa lifts his head off the table and moves to rest it against Iwaizumi’s chest.

“Okay.”

 

19.

“You’re always hovering around me! Poking and prodding and _god_ would it kill you to leave me alone for one damn minute?!” Oikawa yells.

Iwaizumi snorts derisively, arms crossed. “What, like you don’t do the same to me?”

“That’s different and you know it,” Oikawa says, seething. “That’s _different_.”

At this, Iwaizumi steps in until they’re nose to nose, and his eyes blaze with indignant determination. “How? How is it any different, Oikawa, tell me.”

Oikawa doesn’t say a thing, chest heaving. He’s so _angry_.

“I just saved your ass from getting run over by a drunkard,” Iwaizumi hisses, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And granted, I didn’t do it for the thanks, but you wanna tell me why the fuck we’re standing here fighting over nothing, over some tiny fucking problem—”

“You could have _died_!” It bursts from his mouth like it’s been stewing for days, raw and incensed and _afraid_ , so afraid. He tries to hold tight to his anger but it slips away, moves to the side to make way for the pure, unadulterated terror that took root in his heart since the moment Iwaizumi jumped back onto the road. Jumped just in time to shove them both out of the way of the swerving car, god, he was so damn _scared_.

“You could’ve died, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa can’t bring his voice above a strained whisper; it shakes with the sobs he keeps back. “You’re supposed to stay safe, you have to stay safe, Iwa-chan, you can’t do that kind of stuff.”

Iwaizumi stares at him.

Oikawa steps back, squats down and puts his face in his hands. He takes careful breaths, blinks rapid and desperate to keep the wetness away. A moment later, shoes scrape on the sidewalk and Iwaizumi crouches in front of him, and places a hand at the back of his neck to pull him in. Oikawa lets it happen, lets himself hide into the crook of Iwaizumi’s shoulder, shaking.

Iwaizumi tightens his hold, rests his head on top of Oikawa’s. He sighs.

 

20.

“You still didn’t tell me what was different.”

Oikawa doesn’t answer.

 

21.

A light tap on his head, and Oikawa turns, looking up. He blinks.

“Is that—?”

Iwaizumi grins, holding a thin package in his hand. “The new album from that singer you like? Yup.”

Oikawa instantly falls to one knee. “Iwa-chan, I love you, please marry me—”

“Just take the damn thing. You embarrass me.”

 

22.

Iwaizumi stares flatly at a point past Oikawa’s ear.

“What are you doing,” he says.

“Shh, Iwa-chan, trust me,” Oikawa replies. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not,” is the response, but Oikawa doesn’t pay any attention to it, already back to glaring holes into the girls standing across the classroom as his arms trap Iwaizumi in a blatantly territorial hold.

 

23.

Iwaizumi reaches down to him, fingers splayed imploringly. Dirt rains down on his face when Iwaizumi shifts and he tries not to breathe it in. The last thing he needs is to choke on dirt and fall off this stupid ledge. His calves burn with the strain of holding his body close to the cliff face.

“Oikawa, c’mon, give me your hand,” Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa wants to tell him it’s too far, and it’s probably better to go find help, and that he’s not dragging Iwaizumi down with him.

He wants to, but Iwaizumi has that look in his eyes, and Oikawa knows nothing short of a miracle will move him.

Iwaizumi shifts forward again and Oikawa closes his eyes against the dirt. When he opens them, Iwaizumi’s hand is still there, sure and steady. Their eyes meet and Iwaizumi says, “Don’t you trust me?”

A bark of laughter escapes him and Oikawa stretches up to wrap his fingers around that hand.

“Absolutely not.”

 

24.

“Oikawa!”

He startles and looks around wildly, spotting Iwaizumi running towards him, dodging gurneys and nurses and getting a few dirty looks. He doesn’t seem to notice, and Oikawa flushes at the way Iwaizumi stares at him.

He waves, and a smile grows on his face. “Hey Iwa-chan, did they release you from observa—”

Iwaizumi barrels into him, sending them stumbling back. Oikawa gasps under the sudden pressure of the arms around him and the chest under his hands, at the heartbeat thumping so loud and the quiet tremble by his ear when Iwaizumi breathes.

Oikawa brings his hands out from between them and hugs Iwaizumi back just as hard, feeling sharp relief and delayed shock settle into his muscles. Digging his fingers into fabric, he says, “Okay?” and smiles when Iwaizumi’s lips brush over his skin in an answer.

 

25.

“Will you still love me even when I’m grey and old, Iwa-chan? When I have wrinkles everywhere, even on my earlobes, and when I forget something you said five minutes ago, and when my hands shake and I spill things all over the place, and when I complain about my bones or the cold or the rising price of vegetables, and when I need help for everything, like showering and sleeping and getting up and living—will you still love me?”

“I don’t even love you _now_.”

“Iwa-chaaaaaaan—”

 

26.

Oikawa chews on his pencil. He’s been staring at the same page for hours and now nothing on it makes sense anymore. He scribbles something intelligible into his notebook, little loops and slashes.

“You know,” he says, “anytime you wanna get back into, um, the dating scene…Just, uh, let me know. I-I know a couple girls who’d be interested. Yeah. Um.” He scratches his nose with the pencil, smells the spit and frowns.

Iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his textbook. “Didn’t I say I was taking a break?”

The pencil leaves tiny grey streaks on Oikawa’s uniform shirt when he carelessly tries to wipe the smell from it with the fabric. “Well, um, yeah, but. Well.” He shrugs, rubs uselessly at the marks.

“Why are you suddenly bringing this up?” Iwaizumi asks mildly. “I’m doing fine, you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Oikawa says. He spins the pencil through his fingers once and then clears his throat, focusing back to the papers in front of him. He gets a couple sentences in and then presses his lips together, feeling inordinately nervous. He doesn’t dare look up.

His ears burn and his stomach turns, even before the words leave his mouth. “Just. I want you to be happy. And if dating is something that’d do that for you, I just—uh, I want to help.”

Across the table, the sounds of pencil scratching across paper pause, and Oikawa deliberately dives back into his lit assignment.

 

27.

“Which one do you want?” Iwaizumi asks, hooking his chin over Oikawa’s shoulder to look into the pastry display.

“Um,” Oikawa says.

“Ah, who am I kidding, you always go for taro puffs,” Iwaizumi muses, then raises a hand to signal for the employee. “Excuse me, can I get a box of taro puffs and three pineapple buns?”

“Wait, wait, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa unfreezes, but doesn’t try to move far because Iwaizumi _has a hand on his waist._ It lies heavy and warm on his body, like it has every right to be there. If Oikawa didn’t know any better, he’d say it looks—and _feels—_ proprietary. “I don’t have enough for—”

“Relax, Oikawa, I’m paying.” Iwaizumi smiles, easy and loose, like this is a thing that they do regularly. Paying for each other and touching waists. Right. “I’ve got you; don’t worry about it.”

Oikawa very nearly screams. As it is, he barely manages to get out a strangled, “Okay.”

 

28.

“Oikawa! Oi, Shittykawa, are you done shitting yet, I wanna watch the goddamn movie!” Iwaizumi hollers from the bedroom.

“Why is it that I’m pooing, but Iwa-chan is the one with the potty mouth?” Oikawa yells back.

“Say that to my face, Assikawa!”

“You wish your ass would look this good on the toilet, you Neanderthal!”

Oikawa has point five seconds to think _oh, shit, maybe I shouldn’t have said that when—_

before Iwaizumi rounds the corner, stomping and generally making angry noises, and comes to a dead stop in direct eyesight of the bathroom.

_—when I left the door open._

 A beat of horrified silence, and then Iwaizumi spins away violently, yelling incoherently, a hand clapped to his face as the other removes his slippers from his feet and tries to _shuriken_ the fuck out of Oikawa’s head, who in turn, is continuously shrieking.

“OIKAWA WHAT THE HELL—”

“IWA-CHAN OH MY GOD—”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU CLOSE THE GODDAMN DOOR—”

“IWA-CHAN PLEASE STOP THROWING THINGS—PUT.THE VASE. DOWN.”

“MY EYES ARE BLEEDING! HOW AM I GOING TO WATCH THE FUCKING MOVIE—”

“IWA-CHAN I’M SORRY PLEASE JUST PUT THE VASE DOWN _THAT IS MY MOTHER’S_ —”

 

29.

Iwaizumi walks into the bathroom and pushes the curtain aside.

“Hey, where’d did your parents put the orange juice?” he asks, oblivious to the spray of water peppering his shirt.

Oikawa wipes a hand over his face to wash off the last of the bubbles. “Behind the eggs.”

“I already looked there,” Iwaizumi says, and grabs the towels hanging on the rack beside him.

The shower shuts off and Oikawa grunts when Iwaizumi pushes a towel to his chest. “Did you look hard enough?” he says teasingly, drying himself off. “You’re kind of going blind, Iwa-chan; all that college prep you do is taking a toll.”

Iwaizumi snorts, dragging the smaller towel through Oikawa’s hair a bit rougher than usual. “I just want some juice, man.”

“And _I_ just wanted to shower peacefully for once,” Oikawa quips, stepping out of the bathtub after Iwaizumi gives his head a final pat with the towel. “Can’t keep your hands off me, Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah, you’re irresistible,” Iwaizumi smirks, and with a roll of his eyes, walks out the door. “Now would you come help me find my juice?”

“I can’t believe you hauled me out of my wonderful shower to help you find your childish drink!” Oikawa yells.

“You fucking drink it, too, don’t pretend you’re an adulty adult who only drinks wine!” comes the distant reply. “Would you please just help me, you ass?”

“Okay, fine! You win! Whatever, I’ll help you find your juice!”

Oikawa tries not to feel ashamed at how fast he caved once Iwaizumi brought out the ‘please’. Throwing on his clothes, he pushes the feel of Iwaizumi’s hands on him to the back of his mind and goes out to find the damn juice.

 

30.

“Iwa-chan, give me your feet,” Oikawa demands.

Iwaizumi instinctively draw his legs in towards his body. He eyes Oikawa suspiciously over the top of his book, glasses slipping down his nose. “Why.”

“Just give them to me,” Oikawa commands again, beckoning with his hands. Iwaizumi’s been wincing every time he lands after a spike nowadays, and Oikawa’s got an idea.

Iwaizumi gives in surprisingly quick this time, he notices, but he counts his blessings and says nothing. Taking his friend’s feet in his hands, he lays them in his lap and reaches over to the sidetable for the lotion, pumps it once, twice and then spreads the lotion between his hands. Oikawa can feel Iwaizumi’s eyes on him, but pays it no attention, focusing instead on pressing his thumbs to the arch of the left foot and slowly, firmly, massaging up towards the toes.

The effect is immediate: Iwaizumi drops his head back onto the couch armrest and groans. Oikawa smirks.

 

+1

Oikawa wakes with a start, in a cold sweat, and he breathes in sharply. He turns on his side, and shakes urgently at the bare arm that's slung across his waist.

“Wake up, wake up,” he whispers, “hey, I have to tell you something, wake up—”

“God, what is it now, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi grouses, pulling him closer as if it’ll shut him up. Granted, it used to, but now he’s built up a slight immunity. Though he still has to blink once or twice at the sight of all that bare skin in front of him. “Bad dream?”

“No, no—actually maybe.” Oikawa moves back to try to see Iwaizumi’s face. His eyes are closed and Oikawa pokes at his cheek until one eyes slides open blearily. “I just—I need to say something, really quick, and then we can go back to sleep.”

Iwaizumi looks at him for a long time, long enough that he thought Iwaizumi had fallen sleep with one eye open, if it weren’t for the strange, contemplative look in that gaze. “Okay.”

Oikawa takes a deep breath, wondering why he hasn’t said it before. “I lo—”

“—love you,” Iwaizumi says quietly, eyes crinkling with his familiar warm smile, and Oikawa just stares.

“How did you…” he trails off uncertainly, and Iwaizumi brings a hand up to twirl a curl of his hair.

“Because you’ve been saying it all these years, dumbass. Did you think I wouldn’t hear?”

**Author's Note:**

> My dudes I would usually slave over the editing but I find that I don’t fuckn care bc when will haikyuu s4 come out I am starving for content where is the promised aoba johsai ova, fuckn where ( TT ω TT )
> 
> comments, kudos, it's all very appreciated!!!!!!!
> 
> [my tumblr](http://hiuythn.tumblr.com)  
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/hiuythn) except i dont know how to use it


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